Ne Me Laissez Pas Seul
by Haikoui
Summary: It's night, after night, after night. At any rate, he's got his face in beer and she has to pick him up, as always. D/A, slight one-sided Arthur/Mal and Eames and... uh...  Hopefully somewhat funny and kinda fluffy.


**Title: **Ne Me Laissez Pas Seul

**Author:** Haikoui

**Disclaimer: **Inception = not mine because I am no way in hell licensed to make a movie so freaking amazing that it was nominated for eight academy awards. No, the only person talented enough for that is Christopher Nolan.

**Summary: **It's night, after night, after night. At any rate, he's got his face in beer and she has to pick him up, as always. D/A, slight one-sided Arthur/Mal and Eames and... uh...

* * *

"Eames, just put it down, you've had enough for today," said Arthur, leaning onto the bar wearily as he let the bartender pour another shot of vodka into his shot glass.

Eames guffawed loudly and gave out a loud yell. "Oh _darling,_ you're a bloody suck up and hypocrite, haha, oh, Arthur. Stick'n the mud." He gave a toothy grin and gave Arthur a flirty stare.

"How the hell am I a suck up?"

"Love, don't tell me you didn't just write out a whole soliloquy – "

"It's a _sonnet, _you dumbass – "

" – right, whatever, a bloody sonnet, that clearly showed your past feelings for Madame Cobb."

"Eames, put the drink down," said Arthur, giving him a glare.

"No."

"Bastard."

"You love me."

"Only when you're dead."

Eames gave a small shrug and watched as the bartender made a face and poured him another round of gin. "Which will be after you. Well, darling, whatever you say. I know you deny it, like you deny your soliloquy."

"Sonnet, dammit!"

"Oh? You're not denying it?"

"I'm just waiting for you to start slurring your words, Eames, why do you have such a high tolerance for alcohol?" Arthur furrowed his brows and shook his head as the bartender questioned him if he wanted another shot.

Eames stuck out his tongue and spat at the bar. The bartender grimaced and started wiping the bar diligently. The bell rang as the door to the bar opened. "Well, darling," said Eames. "Look who decided to show up!"

A very badly dressed and disheveled Dom Cobb entered the bar, his hair sticking up in various directions. He stumbled every which way before collapsing at the far end of the bar and waving a hand in the air. The bartender hurried over to him in silence.

Arthur turned back to Eames as the Brit raised an eyebrow. "Do you think he noticed us?" inquired Arthur, switching his gaze between Eames and the very gloomy Cobb at the end of the bar, who seemed to have conjured up an atmosphere around him so death-like that everyone in that corner of the bar migrated to where Arthur and Eames were.

"Noticed us? Lookit him, Arthur. He's wallowing in a puddle of imaginary beer, the poor bloke. He'd be lucky to notice he's even here at all."

"What's he wallowing over?" Arthur stood up from his stool and pulled Eames to his feet, who swayed on the spot and held out a hand to steady himself. _Talk about sober._

"Dunno. Prolly how he misses his kids. Y'know, darling, maybe this is where he comes each night after the warehouse."

Arthur led the way to the entrance of the bar, glancing back at the despaired Cobb slumped over the bar. "Let's go, Eames. If he needs a ride, the bartender knows us well enough to call us back."

* * *

"Sir, I really must insist – you come here every night and drown yourself in alcohol. It really isn't a good idea for you to get another one," said the bartender.

Cobb groaned and ran his hands over his face, noticing vaguely his breath had a lingering rotten stench of alcohol. "C'you call Ari?" he slurred, coughing onto the table.

"Thank god," the bartender muttered, moving back and dialing a number he'd memorized because he'd called it so often. "Hello. Yes, again. Thank you." And he hung up. "Your girl'll be here soon, sir."

"Ari?"

"Yes, her."

"Goo'," murmured Cobb, collapsing onto the table again. "Y'know, she's a real goo' gi… girl. Didja know tha' – " Cobb squinted at the nametag on the bartender's shirt, " – Mommy?"

"It's Tommy," said the bartender, sighing. "Yes, sir, she sounds like a great girl."

"She's the… the bes'," murmured Cobb. "She really helps me wi' my jobs."

The bartender nodded, trying to seem encouraging.

The entrance to the bar rung again and a young lady, perhaps twenty two or twenty three, ran inside and to the gloomy corner where Cobb slumped over the bar. "Good lord," she breathed. "How much did he have?"

"Don't worry about the charge, it's on me," said the bartender. "Just – try to keep him outta here from now on. He's really out of it. Each night is worse."

"What did he talk about this time?" inquired the girl, heaving a swaggering Cobb onto her shoulder.

The bartender's lips twitched. "His wife and kids."

"Again," sighed the girl. She looked back at the bartender, who avoided her eyes, and she frowned. "Well, I better get going. Thanks for looking after him again. Geez, Cobb…"

* * *

"Hot damn. Would you look at that," murmured Eames, his eyebrows rising dangerously. "I'm right again. Pay up, darling."

"I thought we agreed you'd get drunk this time," Arthur grumbled, shoving a wad of bills in Eames' outstretched hand.

Eames made a clicking noise with his tongue and shook his head. "And miss this glory? Two months and Cobb's been coming here nearly three times every week. Love, that's a record."

Arthur glanced outside in the darkness of the bar and saw the steady snowfall grace the city. "Eames, come on. Do I really need to make a scene again?"

"It would be entirely worth it," Eames sniggered, eyeing the staggering Cobb in the same corner he'd occupied for months.

The bartender hurried over to them, as he did every night. "Brandy this time."

"Get to it, darling," Eames told Arthur, stretching his hand out once more and snapping his fingers. Arthur groaned and pulled out his wallet, stuffing the Brit's palm with more bills.

The door to the bar opened and the bartender glanced over their shoulders.

"Should I even ask?" inquired Arthur tiredly.

"Oh! I know! Pick me!" Eames whispered mockingly, raising his hand up in the air. "I'm Arthur, I always know the answer, oh pick me, you _bloody bugger – "_

"I do not have an English accent, shithead!"

"It's the young lady again," said the bartender, having already become acquainted with their skirmishes. "And…"

"Well, _excuse me, _little miss fancy prick – "

"Heaven help me right now 'cause I am about to kick your ass straight back to Mombasa, you son of a – "

"… oh, well, would you look at that. Looks like she's coming this way!" said the bartender cheerily.

"_What?"_ Arthur hissed furiously as Eames spluttered out a mouthful of whiskey. The bartender gave an encouraging smile and Arthur gave out a high pitched moan of despair.

Ariadne nudged her way between the two men and smiled kindly at the bartender. "Thanks for taking care of him tonight, but I'll take him back to his hotel again." She turned to Arthur and Eames. "Guys, it really isn't good to bet on Cobb's drinking life."

"It's just because we haven't seen him so drunk since – " Eames began, and the direction of the conversation was clear; Ariadne shook her head, her eyes sad.

"Just don't bet on him. Please. He can't have games while he's dealing with stuff like this."

She left them, crossing over to Cobb's lonely corner of the bar, and hoisting him up. He gave her a weak smile and collapsed on her shoulder, his mouth moving unintelligibly.

The two men watched them leave as the bartender left to do his own duties. Arthur ran a hand through his hair and shot a look at Eames. "This is your entire fault."

"Please explain to me why. And don't tell me you're going to write another soliloquy for a certain dead Madame Cobb again."

"Oh for the love of – firstly, Eames, it's a sonnet – how do you get those two mixed up _anyway? _– secondly, Mal's _dead,_ didn't care for me that way whatsoever when she was alive, and I've actually got a girlfriend. Kinda. So don't even. Just don't."

Eames sipped his whiskey. "I'm hearing no explanation, love."

"Ariadne's right. You can't just mess around. We're actually on a job. And he's dealing with enough crap already."

Eames was silent, regarding Arthur for a long while before placing his whiskey glass on the bar table. "You're a stupid, dull, unimaginative bastard; did you know that, darling?" Sighing at Arthur's wide-eyed gape, Eames decided not to wait for a reply. "They are clearly made for each other."

Arthur's mouth closed. "Oh. Well. Yeah, I could see that. That's obvious as day."

* * *

Cobb's hand pulled on Ariadne's for a second longer and she halted. He was on the bed in his darkened hotel room – she'd put him there – and he held onto her hand insistently. Ariadne yielded to his will and stood by the bed as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't leave," he whispered hoarsely. "Please don't leave."

"You're drunk," she said back. "It's not a good idea."

He coughed and stared up at her with tormented eyes. "Ari – Ariadne – that's not what I meant. I mean, don't leave me ever."

Ariadne's heart broke. She didn't want to leave him, at all. But he wouldn't remember this discussion in the morning – he never remembered any of the late night discussions where he was drunk – and this one was no exception. "Don't say empty words that you won't remember in the morning, Cobb."

"I'll remem… remember." He stifled back a yawn. "Who else 's gonna take me away from that damned hellhole?"

She couldn't tell if he meant the bar, or if he meant dreaming. Of that life he lived. She decided he meant both. "You've got Arthur. And Eames."

"Arthur tried," murmured Cobb, "and Eames is jus' a joke. You're the on'y one, Ari."

"Ariadne," she protested weakly.

"Ari… ad… Ari…"

"Never mind. Get some rest, Cobb."

She began to pry his hand off of her own. He let go and squinted up at her in the dim light of his hotel room. "Don't leave me, 'kay?" he whispered.

"Don't leave you. I wouldn't dream of it. Ever," she said, smiling. His lips quirked upward in response before he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Ariadne switched the dim light off in the hotel room and left.

* * *

"_ARTHUR'S GOT A THIRD NIPPLE, COME LOOK, COME LOOK!"_

"_DICKFACE! STOP SPREADING RUMORS OR I'LL TELL EVERYONE YOU'RE BI!"_

Ariadne's eyes rose to look at the ceiling in exasperation as Arthur and Eames burst into the warehouse, Arthur chasing the Brit around the team and near-curses ripping out of his throat as Eames gave a thrilled bark of laughter. Yusuf watched, overjoyed, a substance he was supposed to be pouring into another flask missing it by a few good inches, and Cobb following the two men into the abandoned warehouse.

"Arthur, sit down. Eames, for the love of god,_ put on your shirt,"_ said Cobb, looking disgusted. "It's like you ran in here straight from your bed. You don't have a sense of decency."

"Bull's eye, Cobb, right as always," said Eames, winking, slipping into his shirt.

"Do you really have a third nipple?" Yusuf whispered furiously to Arthur, receiving a burning glare in response.

Cobb frowned and sat himself beside Ariadne. "Eames. Sit down, we have a lot to do today. Keep yourselves still. What is up with all of you?"

"Arthur's third nipple," said Eames. "Haven't you heard, Cobb?"

"Eames, shut up," said Ariadne, her eyebrows rising, hoping that the sudden deadly aura in the room was just from the warehouse and not from the point man.

"At any rate," said Cobb, "who knows what _Ne Me Laissez Pas Seul _means? My French is a bit touchy. I know the gist of it, and I think it would help us in the job as an idea with Fischer's emotional connection to his father. It'd be nice to have options."

Ariadne froze. He couldn't… could he?

"It means 'Don't Leave Me Alone,'" said Arthur. "Very romantic, Cobb."

"Oh. Well. I guess that wouldn't work for Fischer, then, his father's already dead," said Cobb, frowning at his clipboard. He looked at Ariadne before giving it to her. "Here. Look at this for a second, erase whatever you think could be worked on – then pass it around and have the others look at it too."

Ariadne took the clipboard and looked down at the first sheet, filled with notes of possible ideas for Fischer's emotional connection with his father.

_Ne Me Laissez Pas Seul_

_(I remember a lot of things, Ari.)_

Ariadne swallowed and quickly erased the note to her, leaving the idea there. She stared at it for a second before allowing herself to smile slightly, quickly scribbling something in the note's place.

_Ne Me Laissez Pas Seul_

_(I like this one. – Ariadne)_

Minutes later, the clipboard got around the circle, though not very easily between Arthur and Eames.

Cobb caught her eye and smiled softly.

* * *

**Awwhhh. It was fun writing Arthur and Eames as hyper men. **

**Reviews are amazing, Arthur and Eames are amazing, Cobb is just LOVE, and Cobb and Ariadne are pure LIFE. :)**


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